The true moriarty
by btcool
Summary: Everything Sherlock knew was wrong! It wasn't Moriarty who he was fighting against oh no, it was someone much closer to him then he thought, enter the true Moriarty...


**My first chapter, if I spell anything wrong I didn't mean to and it was a mistake... I'm not the best speller by far. This is personally what I would love to happen it would be such a shocking plot twist, and if I am honest I bet it has already run through Moffet's mind.**

**Chapter 1**

A single light bulb hung down, swinging from side to side slowing, spinning in a continuous circle. Enough to make anyone sick. The light from the light bulb was very dime and brought an eerie atmosphere to the room, not that the appearance of it helped it look nicer anyway, but it added that sudden scare factor that made it a place no one would like to go.

The room it's self was dark and gloomy, with red and black wall paper ripping off the walls, dangling like shreds. The black dirty floor boards had small blood splats on it, smothering the floor. Some of the blood that covered the floor had dripped down past the floor boards, disappearing.

A single wooden chair sat in the middle of the room with a man perched on it, his clothes where ripped and covered in crimson red blood, he was weak and defenceless. His dark brown curly hair that fell down across his face covering any bruise that hid there. Tear stains marked his cheeks as his eyes where closed shut. The man's hands were tied behind his back restricting him from going anywhere. Not that he could go anywhere anyway. The man had screamed from help many a time but he was not greeted with any kind of response, so he had now given up.

A window in the corner of the room shone a small glimpse of light through one of its peepers, the light hit the man shining on his back and making a bloody scar stand out. The scar ran across his back and had small bits of dirty in it, and oozed blood that trickled down his pale back, and onto the seat of the chair. His name was Sherlock Holmes the consulting detective.

Sherlock didn't wanted to be here, he wasn't too sure on how he got here, but he knew he was going nowhere but here. All he could remember was walking down a ally way of the way home from the morgue and the suddenly blackness. He felt pain in the back of his head and had guess that was how he passed out, someone hit. Who he wasn't sure?

He felt like Moriarty had something to do with it, if Moriarty was truly alive... He wasn't completely convinced Moriarty had survived; there was a small possibility but there was no way that would have worked. There was a body, some blood, a gun, it was basically impossible. But not completely. Still Jim was smart enough to get past it, but Sherlock still couldn't bring himself to believe it. No Sherlock knew they both couldn't have faked suicide.

I screaming made him tired, he didn't know how long he had been there for, but he knew it was a hell of a long time. He wasn't even sure if it was night or day, time just wasn't making sense anymore to him.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Sherlock eyes shot open as the sound of footsteps drew closer and closer. Head lifted his head up slowly his eyes fixed on the door that was dead in front of him. The door was dark brown and had the handle of it ripped off, the light from under it shone bright suddenly give Sherlock a sense of hope into finally being confronted with his kidnapper. The door flung wide open, but the light as cut off by a shadow figure stood in front of Sherlock. Sherlock had to a just his eyes a little to see who it was ho was there stood hanging over him like a shadow.

"Morrrrrning Sherlock! Why don't you open those little peepers of me yeah?" A thick Irish accent laughed. Sherlock knew who it was, and well he was too shocked. Not in the fact that he that the devil has survived, but that he question that he was unable to survive. He wore a grey blazer that had a little pocket in which a little blue handkerchief hung out of. He wore a plain simple white tee-shirt, with thick black trousers and black shinny shoes. He wore his hair spiky; some things had changed since the last time Sherlock had him on the rooftop. It was Jim Moriarty, the consulting criminal.

"YOU!" Sherlock screamed loudly making Jim smile a little.

"Yep me did you miss me?" He teased running his finger through his hair, Sherlock groaned pulling hard trying to get his hands free so he could punch him. It didn't work all it did was make small cuts form in his wrists. He was sick of cutting himself now.

"With every bullet so far" Sherlock hissed, Jim laughed a little.

"I like that...did you find a sense of humour while I was gone? Quite funny not that funny you could do better but a start"

"How!" Sherlock screamed in Jims face.

"I could ask you the same question... hey you know we could have just done it together I mean if we were both going to fake it why not"

"How did you fake" Sherlock gritted slowly through his teeth.

"No no no no... no you see that's not how it works Sherlock I do something and you figure it out...so go figure it out" Sherlock sat looking at him blankly. "I don't know" he muttered softly to himself.

"You have lossst your touch Sherlock...I was expect at least even a little bit of theory but no I got I don't no urge your BORING!" he mimicked him laughing as he did no, Sherlock's eyes looked as though they were burning through Moriarty with the glare he was giving him.

"So...aren't you going to tell me?" Sherlock asked waiting anxiously for some sort of response. A woman appeared in the door way smiling delightly to herself, Jim turned round to face her grabbing her hand and leading her into the room. Sherlock sat there stunned in shock as he realized that the woman hanging off Moriarty's arm was the one and only, Molly Hooper...


End file.
